Long Night
by alena
Summary: Even now, in the darkness, her heart has not yet given up on him. For she too was of the Noldor, and she loved him still. Fëanor and Nerdanel.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_   
As children do follow their fathers' deeds  
with no thought of profit or mockery,  
so to thee, Elf-friend, Great One,  
do I offer this humble story:  
The work of my heart, that comes of thine,  
for love of thee, and Arda's greater glory.

Note: A huge THANK YOU to Nemis, who is a patient writing teacher as well as a fabulous writer, to Joan Milligan, who gave me not only the idea but also encouragement, and to Darkmage, for the wonderful insights about Fëanor. I apologize for my presumptuous disclaimer and the short chapters, as well for slightly disregarding the _Annals of Valinor_. 

* * *

**Long Night**

****

Chapter 1

****

The Elf-woman stood by the window, motionless. Outside, darkness lay heavily upon Tirion, the fair city of the Eldalië. The first shock of terror and grief had passed, leaving the city forlorn and eerily quiet. It was so dark that, had she been trying to gaze out, she would have seen nothing, except the candlelit reflection of her own face in the windowpane. It was a pale and delicate face, framed by masses of coppery hair. Her eyes, large and grey, were filled with a thoughtful light, as they always were these days. By Elven standards, she was no great beauty, yet she was lovely, because of the eyes.

But now she stood with her mind far away, her eyes seeing nothing, not her reflection in the window, nor the occasional torch or lamp flitting by in the outer darkness, nor her father, the great smith Mahtan, pacing back and forth in the room behind her, the candles throwing distorted shadows of his form on the walls. She should not be here, her mind repeated bitterly. She should not be here, in her father's house, much as she loved him, but with her husband. She had failed, and darkness had fallen.

Her husband. The Skill of Finwë, the Spirit of Fire, now standing before the Valar in the Ring of Doom. Her husband, whom she had last seen long years ago. He had stood before the Valar in the Ring of Doom then, before being banished. Nerdanel's hands clenched, as she recalled the scene of her most recent defeat. At the time, she had already been back living at her father's house, but as soon as she had heard the sentence, an awful anxiety had taken hold of her, and she had gone to him, and asked, indeed pleaded to go with him into exile. It had been a hopeless mission, a fool's errand, but a part of her Noldorin heart had not yet give up hope, for she loved him still.

She loved him still...And she knew that she had touched him at that time, that there had still been something of their old love within him, too. But then her greatest enemy, his terrible debilitating pride, had reared up, a dark light coming into his eyes. "Why do you wish to come with me?" His voice had been soft, full of mockery. "Do you not think me _unwise_? Do you not pride yourself upon your _wisdom_?

She had reeled under his attack, but withstood it. "What wisdom have I, that you yourself do not have also, within yourself?" At that moment, she had looked up into his face, so handsome and fair, yet at the same time so hard, and all of a sudden her heart had felt as if it had burst into flames. So she had replied quietly and truthfully, her eyes locked with his, "There are times when love must overrule wisdom--"

Nerdanel shuddered inwardly, recalling the words that followed. "Spy of the Valar, you wish only to gloat over me!" And many other words like these. They had parted in anger and sorrow.

Perhaps it had already been too late then, perhaps they had been too far gone in their estrangement. When had it all begun? Once again, she remembered their arguments and reconciliations, her endless battles with his strange moods, his pride, and the ever-lengthening shadow upon him. And as the years of their marriage went on, those battles had ended more and more often in her utter defeat, until she had finally fled from his presence. She had failed him, and now he stood alone. And she had failed their sons, a voice in her mind added mercilessly. Her sons, who had embraced her with love and tears in their eyes, and followed their father, with sadness and regret but without hesitation.

But it had not been always thus...How bright and full of hope had been the young prince, whom she had met in the green hills beyond Tirion's gate! When she first looked upon him, it had seemed to her that he stood in a great light, while all else were dimmed. And the renowned smith, her father, had welcomed him with open arms, filled with wonder and delight at the quickness of his hands and mind, at his boundless creativity. The smith's daughter had been a young maiden then, gentle yet not without pride, and he had swept her off her feet with his passion and his joy. They had wandered far together in the hills and by the shore; all his words had been as marvels to her, and each glance and touch from him had burnt and uplifted her...Had the seeds of their later grief already been present then? How radiant had she been on her wedding day, a bright jewel of Aulë upon her brow, and garlanded with Yavanna's flowers! On that day she had looked upon him, standing beside her in the mingling light of the Trees, the fairest and best of all Eru's children. And how happy had they been at the birth of their sons! She recalled cradling little Maedhros at her breast, singing to him softly, and her husband watching her quietly, for hours on end...Had the seeds of their later grief already been present then?

A single cry sliced through the night, tearing her out of her bitter thoughts. "The King! Oh the King!" All at once, a new wave of cries and lamentations arose in the streets below. Nerdanel started in horror, and Mahtan stopped in his tracks, standing dead still. Finwë! What new sorrows had the night brought?

News came almost immediately. The door of the room was flung open, and Arinthir, her father's newest apprentice, stood in the doorway, shock and anguish written over his young face. "They say--they say there was a terrible Darkness come to Formenos, and there was some _thing_, huge and hideous--but _he_ was there also, and the King--the King is dead, and the Silmarils he stole, and...."

His voice trailed off into a sob. Nerdanel stood transfixed, as jumbled memories of her father-in-law, and of all his deeds of kindness great and small, came rushing to her, flooding her soul. Despite having taken his son's side in their quarrel as he had done in all things, he had never withdrawn his kindness to her. She wanted to scream, or to wake up, yet all she could manage was a broken whisper, "Oh father...." But she blinked hard, taking control of herself. "And what of the others?" She heard herself ask. "What of Fëanor? And his sons--my sons?"

Arinthir lifted his eyes to meet hers, as if seeing her for the first time. Pity appeared on his face. "Your sons are safe, Lady Nerdanel," he answered softly. "They were the ones who brought the news from Formenos."

"And my husband? Fëanor?"

Arinthir hesitated for a second before answering. "He has gone, so they say. He took off as soon as the news came, and they know not whither he went."

An ice-cold wave of fear rose up and swallowed her. But she did not remain terrified for more than a moment, as almost immediately it came to her that she needed to find him. At that very same instant, she felt his presence in the city, his anguish burning and pulsing in her mind, but she pushed the pain away. What would he do? What would she do? She knew not. The only thing she did know, with complete clarity and certainty, was that this time she must not fail. She had to find him. She did not quite understand the thought, but somehow, somehow it seemed as if his very life depended on it.

Rapidly Nerdanel made her decision, and moved to the door. "Father?" she called out to Mahtan, who now stood in the middle of the room, his head bowed. "I am going out, father." Her voice sounded hoarse to herself.

"Wait, Nerdanel!" Turning around, she saw Mahtan catch up to her in a few long strides. For a long moment, he peered into her face, his expression unreadable. But when he spoke, she heard a note of anger in his voice. "Do you go seeking him, daughter?"

She lowered her eyes sadly, but instantly raised them up to his again. "He needs me," she replied. 

"For what, Nerdanel? After all that had passed, do you believe that he would listen to you, even if you do find him?"

She shook her head slightly, but her eyes remained steady. Her father's anger at her husband was long-standing, but it was because he could not bear to see his daughter in pain. She did not know whether he would listen to anything she might say. Perhaps he would not. Almost certainly he would not. But that she would find him, she had no doubt. "But I must, father," she finally answered gently, and exited the room.

Stopping only to collect her cloak lying on a bench in the hall, she quickly left the house, crossing the tree-lined courtyard. At the street gate, she heard her name shouted again, and turned to find her father hurrying after her. He carried a lamp cunningly and elegantly wrought of the finest metal, his own handiwork, and placed it in her hand. A silvery flame, small yet bright, burned within it, protected against the elements by panes of glass.

"It is dark outside," he said simply.

Nerdanel felt something blurring her sight. She squeezed her father's hand, then slipped out of the gate, into the dark streets.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer:_ All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

* * *

**Long Night**

****

Chapter 2

****

Nerdanel stood before the double doors of the room in the tower, taking a second to calm her heartbeat. Coming through the night streets, she had found a city in the throes of fear and lamentation, yet in the faces lit by flickering torches, and in the whispering voices everywhere, there had also been an air of tension and expectation, as if before a thunderstorm. In the King's house, that air was even more intense, almost tangible, and she learned that Fëanor had indeed returned, suddenly and only a short while ago. He had immediately given orders to spread word over the city, calling all to assemble on the great square before the house. The young Elf whom she had questioned, like the rest of the household, had been on his way out to follow Fëanor's orders. Looking upon her with reverence, he had startled her by calling her "Queen", but she had needed to press him before he would reveal that Fëanor had gone up to the king's study, not to be disturbed.

Taking her heart in hand, she threw open the door. The king's study had always been Finw's private retreat, and she had only been in it a few times, even while she lived in this house. It was very high and large, the walls richly panelled, the floors made of white marble. Now the only light in the room issued from a tall many-pronged candelabra standing on a carved table at the far end, and the rest of the room was filled with shadow. Beside the table stood Fëanor, alone and in full armour, examining a long naked sword. The blade glittered coldly in the candlelight, reflecting blue fire upon his face.

At the sound of her entrance he looked up. Their eyes met for the first time in years, holding only for a moment, before Fëanor turned again to the blade in his hand.

"Fëanor?" Her voice came out soft, infinitely gentle, yet carried with it many unspoken questions and a world of anxiety.

He turned the sword about slightly in the light, and flames ran along the engraved steel. "He has fled. The accursed Coward." His voice was taunt and hard. "The Dark Enemy, _my_ enemy."

An icy sea of rage surrounded him, yet his manner toward her was somehow less harsh than she remembered from their last encounter. "He shall not escape," he continued, gazing away from her and at the sword. "my father shall be avenged, and I shall reclaim what is mine, that which he has stolen."

Standing there across the room, as he flung his words at her, Nerdanel felt her whole body freeze with fear. Some foresight fell upon her like a physical pain, and suddenly she heard the clash of weapons, the screams of women and children amid the howling of great fires, and her sons, crying out to her in anguish and torment. In that endless instant, she also saw him, standing there in bright shining armour, and before him certain death, and something more: something worse.

"No!" The cry burst from her ere she was aware of it. "Do you propose to follow him into Middle-earth, Fëanor? To forsake our home here, and the Valar themselves, taking our people with you?" Her words came out in a rush. "No, Fëanor, you cannot do this. You are grieved and anguished, but you must see that this cannot be! No matter how strong and great you are, there is no hope of prevailing against him, and you will only suffer, and so will our people! Please, Fëanor, my husband, listen to me for a moment; I see it in foresight, truly it will be ruin for you and all the Noldor, for the Enemy is too strong!"

"The Enemy is too strong," he repeated slowly, still looking away from her."And is that any reason?"

She returned his gaze, suppressing her first panic. "If it were only his strength, then it would be no reason." She chose her words with care. "But there are other powers, which I do not see clearly. And darkness has crept into the hearts of our people. In your own heart you know this. Do not lead them into a deeper Darkness!"

With a clatter, Fëanor tossed the sword onto the table, and spun around, facing her. "It will not be darkness, but our own destiny, and it will be glorious! How can I not avenge my father and king, and save the Silmarils, into which I poured my heart and my skills, from the dishonour of his hands?"

Nerdanel started inwardly at his vehemence, for in her haste she had almost forgotten the hold that the Silmarils had over him. "Do you suppose that I do not know your anguish?" she asked quietly. "We have all suffered so much in this Nightfall! I know how much of yourself you have poured into the Silmarils, for I was there when you wrought them. Yet their light, their light came from the Trees, and those are now withered, extinguished. And your father--oh Fëanor, he was my father too. I grieve, too, alongside of you, and so do the Valar themselves, and all our people. But if you go like this, you will only bring them greater grief, of the body and of the soul. Will you do that, Fëanor?"

"Is that what you fear? Defeat and grief, and his strength?"

"No, what I fear is something worse." She faced him, fire rising in her spirit as well. "I do see suffering and defeat, and that grieves me greatly. Yet it is not only the anguish of the body that I foresee, for if you lead them forth you will make others suffer, bringing stain and torment upon your soul and ours. Would you do that, Fëanor? He is your enemy, and the enemy of us all, but do you not recall a time when it did not seem so? He has poisoned not only the Trees, but _us_ also, our kindred and our family; he has set brother against brother. If we do not first heal our own hearts within, we would only add to our guilt, and walk more deeply into his snares!"

"Walking into snares?" he flung her words back. "Does the righteousness of my quest mean nothing to you? Does the valour and honour of the Noldor mean nothing to you?"

"The Noldor are valiant, and their honour is great. Yet righteous deeds cannot be achieved by hearts filled with possession and madness!"

"You only speak of guilt, possession, and madness. You think too little of me, and of our people. For I shall tell you about our people, my people." Fëanor's voice rose, gathering a new power. "My people's valour is greater than that of Arda's high Powers, for they do not sit downtrodden and immobile before the Enemy, but arise and fight. My people's honour is beyond the knowing of the Ones called Exalted, for they are made not to be thralls but kings. What they love, they love wholly and truly, with the entirety of their hearts, and so do they also give out their hatred. Yes, they are proud, and it is a righteous pride, born up by their might. Middle-earth is their birthright and their great destiny, and I will lead them there!"

Speaking these words, he seemed so sublimely tall and fair; radiating his own light in the shadows. But renewed fear fell upon Nerdanel. "Do not speak thus of the Valar!" she finally cried out. "Have you forgotten all the love that they showed us, all that they taught us? Can you really believe that they hold us in thrall?"

"The Valar care not about us, our joys and pains. Do you not see, that they brought us here, and hold us, so that we might adore them and serve them? Is this truly meant to be? Should we not walk free, even if it is in the darkness of the Outer Lands? Better to reign in Middle-earth, though it lies in the deepest shadow, than to serve in the Valar's lands, though it be blissful and filled with light!"

She shook her head in sadness and disbelief at his words. "Why do you speak of reigning and serving? Our own kin reign here freely, as our kings. How have the Valar held us in thrall? All that has passed here upon Aman, has passed freely and with joy. And now, in these time of darkness, should we not rather keep faith with the Valar?"

"The Valar are of his own kindred, and Eru has abandoned Arda to its own devices. We have only ourselves. And that is enough."

Nerdanel fought to keep her voice steady. "Fëanor, please, look within your own heart. How far will you go, what will you sacrifice, in this hopeless quest? And have a thought for our sons! Will you sacrifice them also?"

"They are the sons of my body and mind." Each one of Fëanor's words came emphatic and fierce. "They will follow me."

"But they are my sons also!" Suddenly, she felt as if she could bear it no longer. "Yes, they will follow you, and so will all the Noldor, because they are valiant. Will you use this to make them suffer for your pride and anger? Yet when they follow, it will not be due only to their courage, but also the Foe's black words, which have taught you, and them, pride and jealousy, and forgetfulness of the Exalted Ones' love! Can you not see that no feat of arms could have any chance, but would only add to our sin and sorrow, if we do not see him clearly, and uncover and cleanse the wounds he has caused already? It is within ourselves that we must fight him!"

She paused, seeing that he turned away from her, yet went on after a moment, more softly. "Fëanor, my husband, he has wounded and wronged you most of all. And if I could repair any of the wrongs I did to you by my leaving, I would. And if yours is a righteous and true quest, I would not dissuade you, not if it leads to certain death, but go with you even into the Void. But please believe me, this is not it. This is the way to Darkness. Please, look in your heart of hearts, and it will tell you the same. Do not lose faith in the Valar, and do not lose faith in those closest and dearest to you, nor in yourself. My husband, your spirit is so bright, that it blinds you; it is so great, that it deserves better. Do not go...."

As she pleaded, Fëanor remained with his back turned to her. Now her voice faltered, and her breath was anguished and irregular, as if she had run a great distance. For a long moment, they remained where they stood, silent. When he finally turned to face her, she was surprised to see the glint of tears in his eyes.

"Nerdanel," he called her name, coming forward close to her, and his voice was earnest and urgent, with a tenderness that she had not heard in years. "Nerdanel, your words move me more than you can know. They pierce my heart. I know this is not a good time to ask for your forgiveness, but I love you, and I have always loved you, even through all our troubled times. My father's death has made me understand that. But I will go forth to follow the Enemy, because I must. If you believe that my spirit burns too hot into madness, then will you not come with me, to help me and temper me? Will you not come with me, and be my Queen upon Middle-earth, to rule our own realms free and fair, away from here? You will help me lead the Noldor to greatness, and make me better--for you are great and good, you are better than _They_. I know it seems like madness and not wisdom to you, but will you trust me? For I have thought long and hard in my years of exile, and all that time I thought the most of you, your gentleness and your love, upon which I had set so little a price! And I remember your words from years ago, when I treated you so badly: 'There are times when love must overrule wisdom.' Did you not say so yourself?"

As he spoke, she kept her eyes upon her husband's eager face, and at the word "love" she felt the sting of tears, for she had waited years for this one word. Now once again, a great conflagration suddenly blazed up in her heart, and she wanted to say yes, to go with him to the ends of the world, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She held still, listening to the pounding of her own heart. Finally she answered with a great effort, her voice weak and shaky, as if it came from a very far distance away:

"There are times when right must overrule love,"

He took a step back, as if she had slapped him. For a second, he stared at her, hurt and sorrowful. Then, as they stood there facing each other, some change took place before her very eyes, and it seemed that she no longer recognized him. With a snort of contemptuous laughter, he turned away. Picking up and sheathing the sword that lay on the table, he fastened it to his side, and began to walk towards the door.

With a single quick step, Nerdanel placed herself in her husband's path. Once again, desperately, she heard herself pleading, yelling and begging, for him to listen, to not act out his madness. But it was already all over. Fëanor strode forward across the room, with nothing in his eyes now but a light cold and unknown, as inexorable as fate itself. Finally, she stood in the doorway, and held her arms against the door and its frame.

Only then did Fëanor's eyes focus on her again. "Nerdanel," his voice was quiet and emotionless, "step aside."

"Please, Fëanor," she cried in a last hopeless effort, her voice breaking, "please, listen to me, for I love you! Do not go, you know not what you do--"

"Step aside."

Nerdanel gripped the door frame tightly. With terrifying force, Fëanor reached out, took hold of her arms, and shoved her aside, hard. Losing her footing, she fell to the marble floor.

Sitting there on the floor, she stared up at him in uncomprehending shock. It seemed as if he had just torn her very being in two, even though she had braced herself only a moment ago. And her husband stood in the doorway, perfectly still. And yet, and yet shock and horror were upon his face, too, for in all their arguments and bitter words throughout their marriage, he had never once dreamt of laying hands upon her. And now, as her eyes brimmed over with tears at last, something of her lover and husband, from better days past, returned to him, and for a brief moment she thought he was about to rush to her side. He almost did, but the moment passed, drowned in renewed madness. Without a word, he turned away and went out the door. She flinched as it slammed shut.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer:_ All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

* * *

**Long Night**

****

Chapter 3

****

She did not know how long she sat there on the floor of the study in the King's house, alone and in despair. Visions and nightmares washed over her, and she saw her husband and sons covered in bloodstains, and great flames dancing over a roaring sea, and Maedhros, her firstborn child, alone in a high cold place, his face contorted with pain. So she sat thus, motionless, until a great shout in the distance, issuing from many throats, roused her from her stupor. At the same instant, in the candelabra upon the table, the last candle flickered out, plunging the room into darkness. Nerdanel raised a trembling hand to her forehead, and mentally cursed her own weakness. Did she temporarily take leave of her senses?

Yet the room was not completely dark: a faint light now flowed in from the tall windows. Struggling to her feet, she made her way to the nearest window, and saw the weak glitter of stars high up in the sky. But there was another light below, just beyond the courtyards of the palace, the reddish glow of many torches. In the dim light and with numb detachment, she also noticed blood on the palms of her hands; they must have been torn against the door frame and the floor.

Her sons! How could she have been so weak and foolish, wasting so much time in her own despairing thoughts? She must save her sons, even if she could not save her husband--and even for him, there could still be a chance. Nerdanel rushed to the doorway, and yet again was met with cold shock, for the double doors clattered and shuddered before her bloodied hands, but did not open. Her husband had bolted it from the outside. To prevent her from following him.

She pounded and shouted, but heard only the reverberations of her own voice in the house. Dashing back to the window, she saw that the courtyard far beneath was utterly empty. As she gave a cry of desperation and helpless anger, another loud roar went up from the throng in the distance. Above the roar, she heard Fëanor's voice rising, clear and passionate, making a great speech, exhorting the Noldor to leave these shores and seek the lands of Middle-earth,to recover the Silmarils from Morgoth's grasp. Whether his voice was so powerful that it carried over all the way from the square, or whether she was hearing it only inside her mind, Nerdanel knew not. Trapped, she glanced wildly about the room, hoping to find something with which to break her way out. Her eyes fell upon the heavy tall candelabra on the table, now dark with all of its candles extinguished. Lifting it with both hands, she swung it furiously against the doors. They groaned and rattled. She swung it again. And again. In the square beyond, Fëanor's vengeful words rose strong and proud, as if born up by a sea-swell.

It seemed like hours, but at last, the doors gave with a shower of splintering wood, and the sword jammed through the door handles outside clattered to the ground. Stumbling out, she found the house deserted, and so dark that Elven eyes, although already accustomed to the gloom, could barely make out the top of the staircase by the faint glow from the windows. Yet another great roar in the distance. As quickly as she could, Nerdanel went down, and found her father's lamp on a table at the bottom of the curved stairs, where she had left it seemingly an age ago.

By its light, she made her way through the halls of the King's house, and came outside beneath the stars. She ran through the courtyards and gardens, one after another, closer and closer to the clamouring crowd and her husband, until only the heavy front gates of the palace divided them. She pushed against them hard, but they did not budge: she might have been pushing against a wall. For the second time of the night, she had come up against a set of doors barred from the outside. But these doors were wrought of solid metal, almost a foot thick.

Nerdanel slammed her fists against the gates in frustration and impotent rage, then threw her whole body against them, knowing full well the futility of her actions. Defeated, she slipped to her knees. On the other side of the gates, her brother-in-law Fingolfin shouted something, but in her confused desperation the only words she understood were "folly" and "Ilúvatar". Then suddenly, her son Curufin's voice soared high up, full of fury:

"We have sworn to take back what is ours! Let cowards remain!"

Somehow, the horror of those words acted upon her like a splash of cold water, bringing her to her feet once more. She must stop them, her sons! Nerdanel sprang away from the front gates. Again, it seemed like ages, but finally she found an unlocked side door at the back of the house, which led out to a narrow, winding lane, cobbled with white stones. It, too, was completely deserted. Nerdanel slipped out, and began to run.

She made her way up the streets, towards the great square, where powerful passionate voices were still raised in contentious debate, now the voice of one of her sons, now that of one of her brothers-in-law. Most of all, she heard Fëanor, his words no longer loud, but low and deep, carrying some new force, so that they seemed to shake the very earth. "For I am not the only valiant of this valiant people: say farewell to this narrow land! Say farewell to bondage!"

She emerged from a side street into the light of countless torches, coming upon the back of the vast multitude. The sudden brightness stung her eyes, and holding up a hand to ward off the glare, she made out her husband and sons, brothers and nephews, standing upon the wide steps before the King's gate. A palpable energy hung over the square, the faces of the people eager and excited, the very air shimmering with firelight.

"You speak dread words that cannot be broken," her younger brother-in-law Finarfin was crying out, "calling us to deeds that cannot be undone--"

"We shall do great deeds in the lands of Middle-earth! We shall never turn back--"

It was the voice of Amras, her youngest child. A murmur ran through the assembled throng, now seized with some new restless fire. Nerdanel gave a choked cry, helpless and hopeless. Must she lose her sons, too, in this dark Night? Oh, the sons of her own flesh and blood! How can they be so blind and mad, following their father to perdition? Will they not listen?

As she tried desperately to push through the crowd toward the front of the square, another voice was raised high above the clamour, the voice of Maedhros her firstborn, her sweet child, who had been nursed at her breast and sung to sleep in her arms so often, such a long time ago.

_"For so have I sworn, as have my brothers, with Manwë and Varda for witnesses, and the white mountain of Taniquetil, by the name of Eru Ilúvatar..."_

My son, my darling child, swear not upon that name in vain! With unwonted force she pushed aside the people before her, frantically fighting her way to the front. All around, the sea of torches trembled and shifted with the feverish crowd, turning into a single great flame, surrounding her.

_"to pursue with vengeance and hatred whosoever should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from our possession, to the ends of the World,"_

Above, on the steps, her son stood tall, his voice fierce with some power beyond himself, his brothers right behind him. Like in a vision or dream, Nerdanel saw Fingolfin facing her husband, his face dark and grim, and young Artanis standing to one side among her brothers, silent and still, yet her eyes were ablaze. Oh my children, do not go! Keep your hearts from the shadow! Why will you not see the Enemy's lies?

_"be he Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature great or small, good or evil,"_

Please, let this be a nightmare, let me wake up. Let them wake up. Let me not be too late. Do you not hear your own words, my son? What can I still say to you, to stop this madness!

_"that time should bring forth, unto the end of days,"_

Oh my husband, what have you done?

_"may the Everlasting Darkness descend upon us, if we keep it not!"_

"No!"

The scream burst from her throat, yet she heard it not, for just at that moment another great roar went up in the square, and all at once the torches began to swirl and move all about her, sweeping her aside. "Let us be gone at once!" someone shouted not far from her. Straining against the crowd, she watched helplessly as her husband and sons began to move away. Surveying the multitude from the glaring light, Fëanor's gaze fell upon his wife, lingered for an instant, then passed on, as if he did not recognize her. He turned to the others, giving orders, preparing for the march. Down in the square, Nerdanel's cries were drowned in the excited loudness of the throng, as it carried her along its currents, away from her family. She saw Maglor, her gentlest son, scan the scene below the steps, saw his face turn stricken as his eyes met hers. He started to move forward, but then stopped and stood still, as if he could not bear to reach her. The crowd's currents took her farther from him. Then Fëanor called out some hard and inexorable command, and her son turned away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer:_ All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.

* * *

**Long Night**

****

Chapter 4

****

"Sister?" a voice queried softly beside her. "Nerdanel?"

She started, looked up, and saw her brother-in-law Fingolfin peering into her face.

"What are you doing here, sister?" Concern was written over his features.

Nerdanel only shook her head, in a daze of sorrow. They were standing in a side street. The light of torches and lamps flitted as people ran past them, and excited cries reverberated down the road.

"Where are you going?" her brother-in-law asked again, gently.

It took her a second to actually understand the question. What was she doing here? Where was she going? Home?

"Back, I suppose..." she managed to answer at last, "to my father's house...."

Seeing her dazed and exhausted state, Fingolfin insisted on accompanying her to Mahtan's house. Nerdanel made some faint attempts at protesting, wishing to be alone, but he overruled her gently yet firmly. Nevertheless, as they walked through the city, she felt some sense of reason return, penetrating her earlier panic, and was grateful for his calming presence.

"What will you do, brother?" she finally asked in a fairly steady voice, after they had walked for a while in silence.

They halted for a moment. "He is my king and elder brother." Fingolfin's reply was quiet, without any trace of tremor or hesitation. "Where he leads, I will follow."

"But you know in your heart that this is folly. He will lead the Noldor to ruin and to the shadow," Nerdanel said wearily. "But you are wiser than this, brother. Tell him not to go. Do not follow his madness."

It was Fingolfin's turn to shake his head in sadness. "He is determined, and will not listen. And there are times when love must overrule wisdom." Seeing her start at his words, he managed a rueful smile. "And I will try to help him, perhaps to temper him."

They went on, passing the rest of the way without words. As they approached Mahtan's door, Arinthir rushed up, flushed with excitement.

"Lady Nerdanel! Have you heard? Lord Fëanor--rather, the King now--spoke and told us so much!" But then a shadow fell across his fair face. "Master Mahtan is very much angry and grieved, Lady Nerdanel."

"Arinthir, stop and consider your actions, before they cannot be unmade." Nerdanel looked at the young Elf, hardly more than a boy. Yet he appeared changed, grown up somehow, since she last left the house. Was it really only hours ago?

Arinthir met her gaze with determination. "We go to avenge our King, and to win back the Jewels, in Middle-earth--and there will be great need for warriors. And good smiths," he answered proudly.

Fingolfin stepped forward quietly from the shadows behind her. Arinthir's eyes widened. "Lord Fingolfin! But you spoke against him--" He left the question hanging in the air.

"I will go forth with our people, young one."

A bright gleam of wild admiration kindled in the youth's eyes, and he drew himself up like a soldier. "Lord Fingolfin," he breathed.

But Fingolfin turned his eyes away from the other's radiant gaze, and Nerdanel touched the young Elf's arm lightly. "Do not forget the love of the Exalted Ones, Arinthir, though the shadows may seem to cover the world," she whispered as they went past him.

They found the house ablaze with lights and abuzz with activity. Most of the household, especially the younger people, were already making preparations for the march. Even in front of the house, Nerdanel could hear the bellows of the forge in full roar, for the first time since the Darkness had fallen. But Mahtan, the master of the house, stood angry and anguished, alone by a window, staring out in the direction of the western mountains in the distance.

At the sight of Fingolfin a scowl came upon his face. "What are you doing here instead of following your brother?" he growled.

"Father, please," Nerdanel implored. She felt so tired. "Lord Fingolfin argued against him for hours...."

Her father glowered silently, as Fingolfin turned to her in farewell. "Is there anything, sister, that you wish to tell him?" He asked.

"Tell him not to go."

Fingolfin only shook his head, and did not reply. After a moment, he reached out and pressed her hand gently. As he did so, he noticed the smear of dried blood on her hand, and looked up in question, but she returned his gaze, her eyes refusing to answer.

Another moment passed, and he gave her a slight smile. "We shall meet again, sister," he said simply, and started to walk away.

"Brother!"

He turned around at the door. Nerdanel stood in the middle of the room, her face impassive. But her voice trembled with emotion.

"Tell him that I love him, and I shall plead before the High Ones for him, and for our sons. For all of us."

Fingolfin paused, then nodded and passed from the room in silence. At last, Nerdanel turned to her father, swaying a little upon her feet. "Oh father...."

In an instant he was beside her, as she broke down weeping in his arms. "Do not leave me, father...."

"I will never leave you, my daughter," he whispered, holding his broken-winged child in a tight embrace, supporting her.

All around them, preparations for departure continued.

****

_The End_


End file.
